When Kids Leave...

Usually, parents would like it to be something planned and structured and desired by both parties. Parents understand that this is the best way to provide a platform for the future success of their child.

I say usually, because I suppose there are extenuating circumstances when parents don't want their kids around any more, regardless.

However, Nicki and I are not those parents. At least, not right now. Who knows with the little boys. We may feel it is best for their mortal survival at some point. Or not. They could continue being the good boys they are right now. This is our plan.

It was our plan for our daughters. Even Cassidy, who has only been with our family for the past 5 and a half years.We have really strived to give her the tools and teaching she needs in order to be a successful, adult, contributing member of society. Obviously, we have had expectations - of performance and behavior - as we do with all of our children.

Performance is easy. Just do the best you can do at all times and in all things you do. Keep commitments. Those sorts of things. Straight As are not the expectation (unless that is what we know the best is from that child).

Contribute to the family - there are chores, there are things that need to be done to help around the house and to get 6 kids to various activities every day. When you are the oldest and have a driver's license, it kind of comes with the territory. Of course, we could deny the younger kids opportunities and activities that the older kids had, I suppose. But it's kind of a time for the older kids to be able to repay by helping with the younglings.

Behavior is more tricky. We have standards that we have learned through our religious beliefs. We teach these standards of behavior to our children. As they get older, they are allowed more and more freedom to make their own choices and mistakes. Naturally, there are consequences that come with choices. Some are implemented by us - usually in an effort to protect our children from what could be far worse consequences. Hopefully, they are powerful enough to reinforce positive behavior and inhibit negative behavior. And yes, there are consequences for both good and bad choices.

Again, "good" and "bad" definitions are largely informed by our religious beliefs - as I believe it should be for all parents who believe in something, presuming they want their children to believe in that same something.

I get it. Some people are different. Some people have no expectations or requirements of their children. They say, "We should let them learn on their own and make their own mistakes and not have any responsibilities because they are just kids."

That's cool. But the vast majority of those children are in prison. Or out of prison and in gangs. Or dead. I guess we just want more than that for our children.

Sometime children, regardless of how hard we try, will insist on making choices that range from unwise, to poor, to horribly bad. Unfortunately, that's where Cassidy has been at, lately.

She is 18, although still in High School. Yet, for all the unconditional love she has had at home, she feels, currently, that she needs more.

There is much more to it than what is going to be presented here, but I won't get into every little detail - particularly of Tuesday night. Suffice it to say that, aside from just regular familial responsibilities (which were admittedly a little more recently because of a small issue of cancer) she didn't like having restrictions on her cell phone and internet usage. But, again, as protectors for our children, we will enforce such restrictions when our children repeatedly demonstrate that they are unable to handle the freedom without degrading into self-destructive behaviors, at best, or even worse, family-destructive behaviors.

So, she left us. It's been two days. It hurts. A lot. I know how I feel. And I'm just the Dad.

Nicki is hurt and heartbroken. My kids are confused and hurt even more - especially the youngest 3, given this is a repeat of what has already happened in their lives.

I hope she is okay. I hope she doesn't make any more stupid choices that will cost her more than her choices through today have. I worry. I fret.

Oh...and I am mad. Don't forget that. The lies she is spreading are vicious and deplorable. The selfishness involved in these actions is supreme. As if Nicki and I wouldn't like, sometimes, to just get up and run away from all of our problems. But, as adults and parents, we know what we would lose is infinitely greater than the minute perception of freedom we would gain.

What is Cassidy doing? Well, read Luke 15:11-16. That's my best guess. And all I can hope and pray for is that, at some point, verses 17-24 will happen.

Today - Scout Camp

Tomorrow - college.

My two daughters are seniors in the fall.

We haven't really ever had our kids going on trips without at lest one of us there. We always took the opportunity to be a chaperon on the trip our kids went on.

This past week, though, Nick's been at scout camp.  And it has been a little, well, stressful. No contact. No reassurance that he is being adequately supervised. Just going on faith, hope and trust - in God. And that that trust will somehow translate into competent adult leaders at the camp.

He survived, so that's good. But there was definitely angst at his absence.

Is this just a small sample of how it will be next year when my daughters are away at school? Every day wondering if they are okay? If they are getting their homework done? If they are properly being taken care of - by themselves? If they are getting back and forth to classes safely?

Ugh! Why can't my kids all be in kindergarten again? All I had to worry about is whether they made it through the 3 hours without peeing their pants or eating Elmer's glue (which, by the way, I never did either of those things when I was in Kindergarten).

This business of watching kids grow up is heartache.

Of course, when they are successful, it's the complete opposite of heartache. It's heart...not-ache. It's heartfullness. If that isn't a word, I proclaim it one today.

That Time I Was Teaching Her to Drive

It wasn't planned.  Really, it just snuck up on us.  But...our oldest daughter was approaching 16 and needed some driving instruction. That job fell to Nicki.

The experience was so enjoyable for her and successful in generating happiness and goodwill with our daughter, that she felt...nay...she insisted that I should have the privilege of teaching the next one.

I was so grateful to her for allowing me the pleasure of having this experience.  I bordered on envy as I heard tales from each day when they would get back and Nicki would tell me how it went.  Such was the excitement that she could not keep her voice down while telling me.

I knew I could have the same blessed experience, plus, even do a better job teaching our next daughter.  I mean...obviously.  How many times have I backed into our neighbor's car or run into the side of our garage?  I can count them on zero (000) fingers.

Now, my hope is that - with the assistance of Google - I can lay this out in a pictorial, of sorts.  In order to apply for a driver's license, teens need 3.6 million hours of practice behind the wheel while having a learner's permit.  At least, that's what it feels like to them.  Then, after only 2 hours, it feels like it to the parents, as well.

Therefore, our daughter had the duty...even the honor of driving to school at 5:30 every morning.  The bonus is that she was accruing night-time hours, which are supposed to account for about 20% of the required permit driving.  Because...you know...it's still dark at that time.

We exited 95 southbound onto Las Vegas Blvd.  By this point, I had only been through one roll of Charmin since we left the house.  I had talked to her about how to maneuver the merge onto Las Vegas Blvd - using multiple senses (including Spidey Sense) to be aware of all the factors she would be encountering.

Of course, remember that it was dark - as in no sunlight. Here is what the oncoming street looks like (only dark...and no oncoming traffic - except for one car approaching beyond the overpass).

Using my calmest voice, I advised her to wait until the approaching vehicle passed.  Apparently, I used too calm of a voice, because she kept us moving into the lane (the vehicle approaching us in the left lane and now at the intersection behind us - shown below right).

At this point, my voice became, oh, shall we say, a little less calm.  Also, she was now becoming more aware of the car approaching and less aware of what was required of her: namely, finishing the turn into the right lane and staying out of the way of that other car.

Did you happen to notice was was in front of us?  Because, suddenly, this was all I could see (without sunlight and the vehicle in front - you get that by now, right?):

Now, unable to use my calm voice, I could only use my "Holy Crap We Are Going To Die!" voice in an attempt to get her to turn into the left lane and not run onto the median and into the fence.

The approaching vehicle managed to miss us.  And we missed that iron fence by no more than 2 centimeters (for Americans, that means a very small distance); the left tire bounding up onto the median and then back off as she moved into the left lane.

I was completely out of Charmin by that point.

Yes, I know that she was as scared as I was.  And my yelling had not helped her any.  She wanted to stop the car right where we were and be done driving.  But now, it was time for me to find that calm voice again and cheerlead a little bit.

"It's okay, sweetie.  We are alive and you didn't run into the fence.  These things happen.  We learn from them and then do better the next time."

Straight out of the "Lies Parents Say" Handbook.  It's funny how you never get a chance to read it, but the lies come so easily when you need them.

I suppose they come easy because of how much we love them.  We want to protect and build them up.  Sometimes, that means coloring in the truth just a little bit.

Seems Like Maybe It's Time

I make no apologies about it.

I can read my kids' texts. They show up on my iPad.  I even insert myself into their text conversations sometimes.

Again - no apologies.

And if you aren't doing it, then you don't love your children.

But...I think it's about time for me to consider letting my 17-year-old daughter out of the observation chamber.

I popped in to see what was going on and my eyes began burning.  I screamed in pain and agony as my brain was seared.  No, it wasn't because of any improper pictures or language, which is why I ever monitor the texts in the first place.

For the most part, she has embraced my counsel on those matters as they have come up.  For that, I am grateful.

But reading in (spying on, if you will) a group text with a couple of her friends, I realized there are things that I do NOT need to be reading about. Ever.

EH...VER.

Not about her.  And certainly not about her friends. I don't think I need to spell it out for you. So I won't.

But don't go thinking my boys will get off so easily. [Evil, Maniacal Laughter]

Setec Astronomy

Too many secrets.

I am not just talking about government cover-ups and conspiracies. Nobody is a big fan of those, either. But what I have learned is that your teenagers are most likely lying to you.

This past week has had me playing "Sneakers" for real.  Okay, not with scrabble tiles, though.

However, it did involve some hacking.  Interesting side note for those of you who think the only way you can restore your iPhone, iPad, or iPod is by losing all of the data on the device - that's not true.  It takes a little bit of mad computer skills - mostly from others, with me just following instructions.

I will leave you to decide which person I am in that picture.

What? Teenagers lie? I realize that to most of you, this is not a striking revelation. However, with today's technology available to them, unless you are as strict on security as we tried to be, there is a reasonable chance they are telling more lies than you know about.

If you have seen any of the following logos on your child's devices, I highly recommend you delete them. They are only going to enable your child to get into trouble (there are more than just these - you should review any app on the device if you do not know what it does):

Do I seem like I am raising some crazy kind of alarm? Fine. I think parents need to know about this stuff.


Chances are, you don't. You need to. Ask questions. You aren't treating your child like a criminal by simply asking questions.

And if they know you are likely to look at their phone and review there apps and texting and Instagram and so forth? Good. Let me make one more recommendation: periodically review the list of devices that are connected to your Wi-Fi router. There may be a device in your home that you don't know about.

Understand that I love technology. But not as much as I love my kids.

I tell you this because there are kids I know of whose parents wouldn't think their kids are involved in something they wouldn't approve of. And yes, we have been talking to those parents. We are so mean!!

Deal with it.

Is it love? You bet. True love, REAL love, doesn't allow or enable self-destructive behavior. Love intervenes and tries to stop or correct.

Return of the Daddy

*Editor's Note: The original working title of this entry was "Revenge of the Daddy." Shortly before this entry's release, however, I didn't feel that "revenge" should be used, since it is not a true Daddy concept. A true Daddy wouldn't seek revenge on anyone, let alone his children.

It happened again.

"One of your children pooped in the bathtub?"

No. Actually, that is not what I am talking about. Besides, it wasn't IN the bathtub. It was on the side of the bathtub and on the floor next to it.

Every year, the week following graduation at Brigham Young University, the campus hosts billions of women for Women's Conference. For the past couple of years, I have been bamboozled into taking time off work for 3 days to stay home with the kids while Nicki goes up there for yet another respite from, well, us.

You may recall my experience from last year. And truthfully, that experience was more about survival than anything else. And I don't mean MY survival. We are lucky the children made it.

A lot has happened in the 12 months since. And this time I was able to enjoy it a little bit more. No, really. Get off the floor and stop laughing. The most difficult part, I think, has been adjusting my seats and mirrors back to where I had them in my car after she got home. Four days later and it still doesn't feel right.

Not that anything was different from last year. I took one step into the door from the garage and, "Dad, can I have a piece of candy?"

"No."

"Then, can I play the XBox?"

"No."

"Can I solve world hunger and cure cancer?"

"No."

"Is Mom going to be home soon?"

"Not as soon as either you or me would like."

I was able to help them remember that she would be home on Sunday morning. Through gentle, loving talk at high decibels.

The above-mentioned bathtub incident happened that first Wednesday night. What I don't understand is that they do not do this to Nicki. Human waste seems to only end up in (or around) the bathtub when I am on duty. And yes, I am fully aware that I just used the word duty.

I was nearly finished with washing them, when I went to the other side of the tub to find, well, you know. I don't know why I asked. Obviously, the guilty child was "Not Me." I didn't need the boys to tell me that.

Then Jonny dimed out Mikey. He seemed the perfect culprit to me. He's been waffling between being potty trained and wearing diapers.

He was scolded and sent to his room for it. Jonny was the last one to get out.

Something inside me told me that I made a mistake. "Jonny, why did you poop on the floor?" If you have ever had to ask a child that question, you might be laughing at the sight of it in writing. I am. Even if you haven't, I give you permission to. It's a ridiculous question!

"I didn't," came the reply in his "I'm Lying to You" face.

"Yes, you did. Why?"

Then the admission. Boy, did he get it. No, I didn't beat him senseless. I'm not saying I didn't think about it. After all, he knew what he had done was wrong. And I'm not talking about the fecal matter. Although that was certainly part of it.

So what was his consequence for dropping the, uh, droppings? As I got him dressed, I told him to get me a diaper. I should have recorded the response. Classic. Yes, I made him wear a diaper to bed.

Later that night, as I tucked him into bed, Jonny asked, "Is tomorrow Sunday?"

Funny, that's exactly what I was thinking.

Finding Joy in the Journey

We like to travel as a family. We will pile in the van and go for a weekend - to Provo, to Disneyland, to Southern Utah.

Our trips will always start with a prayer - asking for obvious things like safety while we travel, that we can have fun, expressing gratitude for the opportunity to travel as a family to whatever destination it happens to be.

The most important thing I ask for, however, is that I will not kill my children.

Here is a log of how the trips have gone, without exception, for the past 4 months:

Mile 0: Open with the aforemention prayer and head on out the road.

Mile .5 (just past the gates of our neighborhood): "Are we there yet?" "Seriously? Did you really just ask that? Watch the movie."

Mile 1.2: "How much longer until we get there?" "Be quiet and watch the movie."

Mile 1.9: "He's touching me!" "Stop touching your brother and watch the movie!"

Mile 2.3: "Do we have to watch this movie?" "Yes. Be quiet and watch the movie."

Mile 2.8: "How long are we going to get there?" (This is little boy for "Are we there yet?")

Mile 2.81: I want to kill my children.

I have always reasonably enjoyed driving to and from Disneyland. Or to and from Provo. I can't say there has been much joy on these journeys recently, however. Don't get me wrong. I love going places with my children. I just want them to be quiet and not talk to me. Just watch the movie. (Or, maybe if I could get Face, Murdoch or Hannibal to tell me what they used on BA...)

How did our parents do it? There were no DVD players. No Gameboys (for most of us). No DS's. (I'm not really sure how to pluralize that properly - any ideas?)

No, my mom had the home-made-from-denim pocket wall hanging on the back of the seat in the suburban - or station wagon, in the pre-suburban days. In the pockets we had things like travel Boggle, flannel activity boards, coloring books, Madlibs, or [ahem] actual books to read. What's more, there was the license plate game, the alphabet game, or the "Let's each take turns picking a song and everyone sing it" game.

Sometimes, my mom would even read books to us (so we didn't have to read) - and we actually listened as though there was something interesting going on. No moving pictures in the vehicle!! Unless you count the scenic landscape out the window.

Whew. That's work. I don't have that kind of patience in me, I'm afraid. I just want to drive and talk to Nicki. It's so much easier to "Insert Disk" and "Press Play." Job done. Parenting complete. We let Brother Walt entertain our kids, so we don't have to. And we still claim the credit for said entertainment. (Hey, after all, we did buy the DVD.)

I have admitted in the past my selfishness. I am aware. Somewhere, I need to find the patience to have joy in the journey.

It's All About Pee

At some point, I would imagine that anyone like me will eventually do a blog about it. So I might as well get it out of the way. I promise it will be the first, last and only one, though. Um...okay, don't hold me to that. We're not counting the Malibu excursion, right?

You may recall that we bathe the 3 youngest boys together. Usually, Jonny likes to sit at the helm, Mike astern and Josh in the middle. Josh routinely likes to stand up to reach at different toys, or just to pester one of the other brothers. I had turned to wash Mike's hair, when Josh stood and released the contents of his bladder all over Jonny.

Then he laughed and laughed. (Josh, not Jonny.)

If you take a step back, and if you're not the one being urinated upon, then I think there will be a part of you that probably thinks it is pretty funny, too. At this moment, I am having a good chuckle myself, I will admit. However, that night I was not amused. Nay, not in the least. So I lifted them all out of the tub so I could drain, rinse and refill.

Fast forward to last night.

I was already just a little bit upset about the dog feces that had been tracked into the house on little shoes as the boys came inside for bath time. This night, I got Mike out first. I dried him off, got him dressed and prepared the Mikey Burrito, then turned back to the bath to finish the other two.

The Mikey Burrito

I was fairly certain the water had not been yellow when I got Mike out. Yet, there was a distinct yellow tint now. This time, Josh was not the culprit. Apparently, Jonny thought he was in a swimming pool at a water park, rather than a bathtub.

"Why did you pee in the bath, Jonny?"

"I didn't."

The lesson for Family Home Evening the night before was about lying. Or, rather, NOT lying.

"Jonny, did you pee in the bathtub?"

"No, I didn't!"

Josh - "Jonny, just tell the truth. It will be easier!"

(Questionable Parenting Tactic to Follow) So, I let him enjoy it while I had Josh stand up, get rinsed off and washed. Then lifted him up to wash off his feet. I had no bananas to give him, but he seemed okay. I left Jonny sitting in his Urine Spa while I helped Josh get dressed, etc., and sent him off to his bed to read books (part of the Nightly Routine).

No, I didn't actually wash Jonny in his own pee. I thought about it. But that would probably be less than questionable, right? Drain, rinse and refill.

While I would hope this is the last time such a thing will happen, I resign myself to the reality that it probably is not. After all, when was the last time you were in the shower and...

It's All About Me

Last week was rough. I was left to care for the children every night, without the presence of my beautiful and extremely talented wife. How is one man supposed to be expected to care for 2 children by himself for more than one night in a row? Or more than one night?

Like anyone, I have a list of things I wanted to accomplish...last year. But I am still trying to get started on the first one. I was thinking I might finally get a start on some of those things this past week.

Nope.

Before I continue the rest of this story, I would like to point out I am fully aware of my selfishness. I appreciate your desire to set me straight on the many things I did wrong and how my selfishness was the center of it, however. Thank you.

So it was a long (and extremely rainy, by the way) week by the time Thursday rolled around.

Thursday afternoon, I drove through a puddle and came out the other side with an annoying, repetitive sound in the front end on the driver's side.

Friday morning, I inspected my tire and discovered that there was a bolt was stuck in it. "I will take it to Big O Tires tomorrow," I thought.

Friday evening, I left work a little early so I could stop by a dealership, on my way home, to look at a new car I have been thinking about for a while. I really like it. I do. "I wants it. My precious."

In the 2.7 seconds we had together on Saturday morning, I showed Nicki the various analysis I had done regarding the affordability of a new car payment (remember I am an accountant). She agreed that we could do it and gave me the green light, if I decided it's what I want to do.

"I wants it."

"You should take your car to have the tire fixed before you go."

This wasn't any ordinary old random thought. I recognized that at that time, mind you. "But," I reasoned, "It's held this long...I can still get Matti to her friend's birthday party back on this side of town by 3 pm. and then to help my friend move into his apartment at 4 pm."

In other words, "I must have it. I wants it." And we were off.

Do you have an 11-year-old daughter? Every mile I heard, "The Santa Fe is not this way. We have passed the Santa Fe. Daddy, I am going to be late!!"

Gollum said some things to my children on the drive over to Findlay Chevrolet that I regret.

Then, at the point where the concrete meets the asphalt on the off-ramp to Rainbow, the bolt was thrown loose causing the tire to almost instantly go flat. I was so close, yet so far away.

This off-ramp is far too busy to stop right on it to change the tire. So, I was forced to limp up and to the right into the first parking lot. Naturally, Nick wanted to help and it was fun for him to help get the tire out of the trunk and get the lug nuts off - after I had loosened them, of course. I'm strong enough to do that, you know.

Half an hour later, we were mobile again - except I had never used my spare in the 6 years I owned that vehicle (check your spares, folks!). With just enough air in the spare to get to the gas station next door, we drove over and I filled it and checked the other tires in the process.

"Well," thought I, "I'm this close. We'll just go look real quick."

"I wants it. My precious."

I looked at the car while the kids entertained themselves in the lobby (with a TV and, as I was about to realize, a soda fountain) and we left with enough time to get around the beltway and back to the Santa Fe Bowling center - it should only take around 25 minutes. Unless...

For those of you who have (or have raised) young boys, you may be aware of the necessity to ask a certain question before going anywhere in the car. I did not ask that question and no sooner had we entered onto the 215, from the back seat, "Dad. Um. I need to go potty." Also from the back seat, "What?! No, Daddy! We are going to be late!!"

Smeagol had started to regain some control over Gollum by now. I pulled off the very next exit and drove through to the frontage road where there is only empty dirt. We left the empty dirt with a small patch of mud.

We proceeded to make good time, with my constantly never-over-dramatic daughter assuring us that she was going to be late and miss the entire party. I chose to drive Summerlin Parkway to the 95, figuring it would be faster. As we approached the flyover to northbound US-95 from Summerlin Parkway, from the back seat, again, comes, "Um...Dad. I really have to go potty again."

"What?! No, Daddy. We are going to be late!!"

I asked, "Buddy, can you possibly make it another 5 minutes?" We tried some diversionary tactics - songs, etc. - for a very brief 2 minutes (probably less) and I pulled over just past the Rainbow on-ramp before the Cheyenne exit. A perfectly safe place to stop.

I had managed to have my son relieve himself on two different highways within 20 minutes. Worry not. There were two more to go.

I dropped off Matti at 3:04 pm. Unfortunately, the party that started at 3 pm had ended by then, so she was left to go bowling by herself. To her relief, however, she found that all her friends had decided to stay a little longer.

The story continues...